Little did he know that she had begged her parents as a youngster to get her a language tutor. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. She twisted her fingers tightly. E. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. He won’t be in uniform.
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